


To Love and to Cherish

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:49:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6380596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is either the absolute best or the absolute worst timing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Love and to Cherish

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted on fanfiction.net in 2013 and is now being crossposted here with the rest of my work. It was inspired by a tumblr post (the link to which, alas, was lost) that was a photoset of Marcus and McCoy at a wedding.

It's a rather nice venue, all things considered, and it has a fantastic view of the bay. Fortune has smiled upon them and let it be a sunny day for once, the Golden Gate Bridge gleaming like it's been newly painted.

If only he weren't so goddamn  _bored_.

Oh, sure, the entire crew of the  _Enterprise_  is there--especially considering their captain is officiating the ceremony (and what possessed Spock to think it was a good idea or Uhura to go along with it, he'll never know)--but they're pretty subdued at the moment. Probably waiting for the reception when they can take advantage of the open bar. Uhura's family (she has a really, really huge family, almost big enough to rival his) is all in attendance, as well as a good number of the Starfleet brass, and he's doing his best to avoid both parties.

There's this whole air of anticipation, of bated breath, that he can't stand. He gets enough of that in sickbay, waiting to see if the patient will pull through.

And if he's comparing a wedding to the sickbay then he's really getting cynical.

"Trying to uphold your antisocial reputation?"

A lithe arm slips through his, pulling his hand out of his pocket to twine their fingers together as she lightly presses herself against his side. He turns and is met with a blinding smile, and he pulls away to get a good look at her.

Her hair is curled, a rare thing for her, a few of the strands coming loose from the pile hanging at the back of her head. She's wearing slightly darker eye makeup than usual, emphasizing her adorably mismatched eyes (one aqua-hazel, one sapphire) and contrasting nicely with the porcelain of her skin. She wears her usual light lip-gloss, barely noticeable. Her dress has loose straps and is a charming almost-champagne color (or is it ivory? He's not good at things like that), the neckline showing off a tantalizing bit of cleavage and the back low and swooping. She's wearing the dangly crystal earrings he bought her for their one-year anniversary, but no other jewelry. They sparkle as they catch the light, matching the dancing light in her eyes.

It's a stunning vision.

"You know, that color is awfully close to white," he points out, because he has a habit of spoiling romantic moments.

"It's a bridesmaid's dress and you know it," Carol replies. "You look rather dashing."

"Oh, really?" He can't help his grin. He's wearing a navy suit so dark it's almost black and a tie to match, and he might have chosen it because she told him it went well with his eyes.

Carol ducks her head, smiling broadly. He steps forward, unable to help himself, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his nose into her hair, careful not to upset the pins she's shoved strategically into place. He feels like he's barely seen her since this whole wedding thing really got underway, because he mistakenly thought that Gaila, being the Maid of Honor, would be doing all the work, and not delegating some of it out to Carol and Christine Chapel.

He should've known better.

"You know this is all a crock, right," he observes as Carol loops her arms around his neck.

"What, the wedding?" She laughs into his neck. "I knew you were bitter, Len, but…"

"Not the wedding. I mean… Spock and Uhura have been Vulcan married for almost a year now. Shouldn't this be more of a renewing of the vows thing?"

Carol snorts. "Yeah, like Nyota's parents would go for that. I'm pretty sure they still think she's a virgin."

He has to laugh at that. He's Uhura doctor and one of her close friends. He has some stories he could tell.

"I have to go," she says, pressing a kiss to his neck. He tightens his hold on her in response, grinning playfully when she gives him an annoyed look. "Seriously, if I'm not back there in five minutes Nyota will kill me."

"I'm sure she can spare you. I haven't seen you for a week."

"And I'm sure that  _you_  can–"

The only effective way to shut Carol Marcus up is to kiss her, and that's exactly what he does. He feels it the moment she shifts from indignation to resignation, wrapping her arms more tightly around him and kissing him back with fervor. He traces little patterns into the skin of her exposed back, feeling the heat of his body grow as she presses herself against him.

"C'mon," he whispers. "You're coming with me."

She doesn't even protest and he knows that he's got her, that she's missed him too, and he leads her by the hand across the lawn towards the chapel.

He doesn't know this church very well, but he's been in others plenty of times and there's always a secluded nook or cranny where one (in this case, two) can hide away from prying eyes.

He locates a suitable such spot, a tiny office that looks like it's been unused for at least a century, and pulls her inside.

And then they're up against the wall, feeling her heated body through the flimsy fabric of the dress, wishing he could rip it off and see her in all of her glory. They don't have a lot of time though--Carol's right about that--so he settles for pushing her dress up so it's bunched around her wait and out of the way.

They're kissing frantically, pressing lips against any bit of skin they can reach, her hands fiercely massaging his scalp. He braces himself with one hand and undoes his pants. It takes longer than it should, he's doing this one-handed and he's a little uncoordinated given his condition, but he manages.

"Just come  _on_  already," Carol mutters against his lips before her tongue's in his mouth again, driving him to distraction.

He finally (finally!) gets his cock out and slides home and  _sweet mother of God_  why the hell did they let themselves go a week without seeing each other?

It occurs to him that when she leaves for the Genesis Project he might go crazy.

"Len…" His name is choked out of her as she lets her head fall back against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist like a vice.

"Missed this," he admits, as he starts moving, lapping up the sweat sliding down the bolt of her jaw. "Missed touching you like this, darlin', feeling you."

Her nails dig into his jacket as she holds on for dear life. "You think it was fun? Rushing around when I wanted to lay in bed with you, roll around until I can't walk straight and you smell like me?" She gently tugs on his earlobe with her teeth.

He sinks into her as far as he can go, feeling the wet, welcoming heat of her, resting his head against her shoulder because it's almost too much sensation for him to bear. He tries to slip a hand down, make sure he takes care of her because he's not going to last long at all, but she stops him, bestowing kisses on his worn knuckles.

"Don't need it." A smile flits across her sweat-coated face for a moment before her eyes slide closed and he feels her tighten around him. "So… close already, Len, just…"

He can't help it, he moves harder, faster at the sound of those words, thanking whoever made this church that the walls are as solid as they are. He presses his face into her neck, muffling his cries into her damp skin as he comes, her body milking him for all he's worth. He hears her bite down on her hand to stifle her scream, her hips snapping one, two, three times, and then they're absolutely boneless and sliding to the floor.

It takes him a minute to catch his breath, craning his head to look down at where Carol has snuggled her face into the crook of his neck.

"I didn't ruin your dress, did I?" He asks.

She looks down, inspects it, and shakes her head. "No." She heaves a sigh and sits up. "But I do have to go." Her voice is soft and her face even softer as she gazes down at him.

He tucks an errant slip of hair behind her ear. "Go on. Be a good friend," he grumbles good-naturedly.

They stand up and quickly make themselves presentable (using purloined paper towels that Carol snags from somewhere), and within minutes no one could have guess what they'd gotten up to in there.

He wonders, again, how he's going to handle it when she's gone on the Genesis Project, several galaxies away from him for an entire year. He wonders how she's going to handle it--if she'll even feel the same way about him after such a long time apart.

"You know," he says, clearing his throat. "It's not that I'm against weddings as a rule…"

He'd like to say more but she's kissing him, quick and dirty, her hands holding his head in place while her tongue steals his breath away. "Just try and look like you're enjoying yourself," she teases, slipping out of his grasp and hurrying out of the room.

 _Damn impossible woman._  He does as he's told, though, heading to help calm any nerves that Jim might have riled up. How  _he_  ended up as the Best Man is anyone's guess, but he supposes that he and Spock have grown relatively close over the past couple of years. They often have to unite to keep Jim from doing something incredibly stupid, anyway.

It's hard to focus on corralling Sulu, Scotty and Chekov while also dealing with the diva that is Jim T. Kirk when all he really wants to do is find Carol and see just how easy it is to undo the buttons on that dress. The fabric felt thin and silky beneath his fingers and he can easily imagine how it would look cascading down her body, sliding against her fair skin…

He's not going to last through this damn ceremony.

They're at the podium, Jim and Spock bickering about something, when the music starts and the doors at the front open.

First comes Christine, her long honey hair piled high, her dress a match for Carol's in color but strapless. She smiles encouragingly at Spock and tosses Kirk a wink (wait--what?) before taking her place.

"You look lovely," he whispers to her.

"Thanks, boss," she replies. He'll never admit it, but Christine is his favorite assistant.

Next is Carol, and he turns back to watch her walk down the aisle and–

His train of thought comes to a violent, screeching halt.

If he thought she was lovely before…

She's walking down the aisle, a small bouquet in hand, smiling at him and only him, and he remembers that this is what weddings are supposed to be about, two people that love each other and aren't afraid to declare it to the world, and maybe this wasn't such a bad idea, and then she's on the other side of the podium next to Christine and he realizes he's still staring.

With his mouth open.

He closes it quickly, clears his throat, and forces himself to watch Gaila take her turn down the aisle. Her dress is scandalously short but it has these sweeping Renaissance-era sleeves that look nice. The color, surprisingly, compliments her skin.

He risks a glance back at Carol. He's expecting a knowing grin or a wink, but what he gets is a soft, tiny little smile that nearly makes his knees buckle.

No offense to Spock, but he got the most beautiful crewmember on the  _Enterprise_ , hands down.

Mendelssohn's "Wedding March" begins to play, and everyone stands. He knows he should be watching Uhura walk down the aisle but he can't tear himself away from Carol, can't stop staring at the look in her eyes.

But now Uhura's standing in the way and he can't see Carol's face anymore, so he contents himself with checking out Uhura's dress.

It's rather simple, but flattering--just her style. Her hair is down for once and looks lovely. He mentally notes to compliment her later on.

Much, much later on, if he gets his way with Carol.

The speech is made ( _dearly beloved_ ) and the vows are exchanged ( _with this ring_ ), and both Gaila and Christine get misty eyed. As a matter of fact, so does Chekov. And Scotty.

Dammit, he knew he should've grabbed some handkerchiefs to pass out to people. Not that he can blame them--they all love Uhura like she's their surrogate mother or something, and Spock… well, he wouldn't call the guy 'beloved,' but he's respected and admired. He's a part of their ragtag family, same as the rest of them.

"I now pronounce you…"

He can't stop himself from thinking,  _finally_.

The happy couple (well, happy is a relative term when it comes to Vulcans…) makes their way down the aisle and outside, and he makes a beeline for Carol before the crowd can sweep her along.

"C'mere," he whispers, pulling her so that they're at the back of the crowd, standing in one of the pews near the podium. Jim sees them, gives a curious look, but doesn't say anything.

Soon they're alone in the church.

Carol's eyes are roaming his face, searching out the reason for his sudden intensity. "Is everything okay?" She asks.

He takes a deep breath, holds her hands in his. "Look, I'm not saying I haven't been thinking about this, or that I don't have my reservations… but you're going to be gone. For a year."

She frowns. "I thought you said you were all right with it."

"I am. You have your work, and I support you in that. You're a genius. Go use some of it to save the world. I just--I want to promise you--have us promise each other. That when you get back…" He trails off, unable to voice his hope.

Thank God she understands, has always understood, in a way that nobody else ever could or will.

"Yes." That beaming, face-splitting smile is back on her face. "Yes. Of course."

He picks her up, whirls her around once, twice, feeling ten years younger. The kiss that follows is long and deep, and he feels it in his very bones.

"I'll expect a bent knee and everything," she whispers, her voice tender and lighthearted.

"Darlin', anything you want," he promises.

They hurry out of the chapel to join their friends, pile into the cars and drive to the reception.

After all, they have a lot to celebrate.


End file.
